Thousand Colors
by Zouzou0517
Summary: Warning, SPOILERS on season 6 - trailer and first episode Short OS from my favorite image from the trailer of season 6, the one where Clarke is spinning on herself, with a brush in her hand, barefoot, in pajamas and silk kimono. Because Clarke deserves to finally be happy.


"Something's going on with Clarke!"

That's all Murphy shouts at me a second after practically busting down my door, waking me up with a start and leaving me in a state of dazed panic. Finally, faced with my immobility and silence, he yells out:

"Hurry up!"

I push back the sheets covering me, grab sweatpants and a t-shirt I quickly put on and hasten to follow John, who's already outside. My shoes are already waiting for me in the lobby and I put them on without lacing them up, before jogging to catch him. I follow his fast and restless pace through the streets of Sanctum, our new planet.

We reach a crossroads and the sun's brightness - _suns_ \- strikes me. I blink and raise my hand to protect my sleepy eyes from the gleam of the dawn. Six months on Sanctum will have changed nothing and I don't know if I'll ever get used to this brightness that gives each color a dazzling and saturated glow. Even at this hour, their rays are strong and seem to warm me from the inside.

After 125 years of sleep at a temperature so low that it literally cryogenizes your body, a slight increase in the level of mercury is not a problem. Especially since I woke up in cryo, I can't get away from the feeling of constantly being cold.

It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I am single again. I don't need to be convinced, I know that. Echo and I broke up months ago by mutual agreement and I've been recovering from this break-up for almost as long.

John abruptly interrupts my thoughts by suddenly turning right before taking an alley so narrow that we can't walk side by side.

"Where are you taking me, Murphy?"

"Clarke's. It's a shortcut"

In this regard, I could only trust him and continued to follow him, letting him travel the streets as if in conquered territory. I had only been to Clarke's house three times since we arrived on this planet six months ago. He had surely taken this path dozens and dozens of times - which was certainly true given the frequency with which he and Clarke met.

As far as I could see, the young man was now Clarke's closest person. If there was one friendship I hadn't seen coming, it was the one between John Murphy and Clarke Griffin. Yet, when I thought about it - _and I had thought about it far more times than I would ever admit _\- it was not surprising. The two people were similar in many ways and if it had taken me time to drown out and understand my anger and jealousy, I was finally happy that Clarke had a person close to her, a person to share her burden with.

Over time, I'd watched John become her confidant, the shoulder on which she was crying, the outstretched hand that lifted her up. I was no longer the one who made her smile, nor the one she was talking to, nor the one she was looking at, eager for answers and comfort.

Stepping aside to give him the place I once so proudly held had certainly been the second most difficult thing I had been through. First came _"leaving the woman I love to die under a radioactive and deadly wave"_.

As the streets begin and others end, I recall the few moments Clarke had welcomed me to her home since we arrived on Sanctum.

The first time, we all met at her house a week after we landed, to decide whether or not we could trust the people who had welcomed us there.

The conclusion of a whole night of discussions and arguments had been - _not surprisingly_ \- yes. After all, it wasn't as if we could just decide to travel to another planet for refuge. We didn't have a hundred options. This may have been the last time Clarke and I had united to stand up for each other and make a decision. Since then, nothing was the same between us, and I knew very well that the distance between us had everything to do with the second time I had visited her.

This second time was two weeks after our group discussion, the very same day that Echo and I broke up. All the accusations that the woman I loved and thought I was in love with, had thrown at me; all the comments we had exchanged, had finally led me to Clarke's door in the middle of the night. She wasn't asleep, of course, and I could only imagine what nightmares kept her awake, what insomnia prevented her from getting sleep and rest.

Clarke had hesitantly opened her door to me, uncertain of the reasons that brought me there. The misunderstanding on her face had faded as she grasped the reason I was there.

The words of that night resonate in my mind and cover the sound of our footsteps on the pavements. Some of them escape me, others are fuzzy, made foggy by the alcohol that intoxicated me that evening. Yet others are imprinted in my mind, including:

" You radioed me every day for six years, and then left me to die in the fighting pit."

"I'm so sorry, Bellamy."

Of course, I was no longer capable of both denying and ignoring - _as I had done for so long_ \- that I loved Clarke. Not platonically. Not like two friends love each other. _No_. I was _in love with_ her. I loved her with every single fiber of my being. With my heart, as with my head. It wasn't for no reason that Echo and I parted. It wasn't for no reason that I was unable to experience for the former spy this deep feeling that possesses you, that eats you, that controls you. This place in my heart was already taken. It seemed like it had always been.

It was to tell her that I'd been to Clarke's house this third time.

That was about four months ago. However, this time I hadn't even been able to knock on her door, interrupted in my impulse by feminine laughs that I had recognized as those of Clarke and Niylah.

I had barely lowered my fist, standing still in front of the door, when I heard it opening. So, I'd done what was expected of a man about to reveal his feelings, what was expected of someone who had faced more wars than he should have: I had fled and hidden in the shadows while cursing myself inside.

_Brave little knight._

With clenched fists and a tight throat, I had watched the two women hug each other softly, then Niylah slowly disappears into the darkness before returning home with a dragging step.

I brood as I continue to follow Murphy through these same streets.

If Clarke had decided to be with Niylah, even after learning from me a few weeks earlier that Echo and I were now separated, I wasn't going to get in their way, in the way of their happiness. And if - _once again_ \- she hadn't chosen me, I could only blame myself. And if my heart broke into a thousand pieces every time I thought about it, I just-

My thoughts are interrupted when I hit someone in the street with full force. The young woman crashes to the ground with all her weight and I stumble into the dust myself. Nevertheless, I quickly regained my composure in order to apologize and help her. I just straighten up when I see who it is.

_Niylah. Karma definitely holds a grudge against me._

However, a second person is already helping her to get up.

My blood freezes in my veins when I recognize Octavia. Octavia, to whom I have barely addressed three sentences in six months. Octavia, who sentence me to death. Octavia, whose reactions I still fear. Octavia with whom I have no desire to confront myself for now.

Octavia who is not paying any attention to me at this moment? Octavia who grabs Niylah's hand to get her up again, but keeps her palm tight in hers? Octavia who looks at the young woman's head with concern, then at the rest of her body in search of wounds? Octavia who gently cleanses the dust and dirt from her shoulders, her back, and even her bottom? It' s only when a blushing Niylah clears her throat to signal that they have spectators that my sister turns to me and snarls:

"Watch where you're going, big brother."

And the tone of her voice, her face, her expression, God, even her hair and clothes shout "_Octavia_". Octavia, as I knew her before. Octavia, the little sister I lost so long ago. My heart suddenly almost bursts into my chest.

"Ai niron," calls Niylah and Octavia's attention immediately focuses on her. "I'm fine, it's nothing. Bellamy is obviously in a hurry?"

I nod to confirm the question in her eyes and watch Octavia relax instantly. Without another word, they turn and go back on their way. But I turn around before they disappear and shout:

"O'!"

My sister looks at me and waits.

"Maybe we could talk? Catch up on lost time? Later if you have time..."

And then Octavia does something that I only saw her do several years ago - _give or take 125 years_ \- back. She actually smiles and answers me:

"Okay, Bell. You know where to find me."

Then she takes Niylah's hand back into hers and disappears around the corner.

I probably would have stood there all day if Murphy hadn't pulled me out of my stupor by dragging my arm and mumbling:

"Come on, we don't have all day."

My attention focuses on my purpose by itself.

_Clarke. Clarke is in trouble. Clarke needs me._

From what I know from this part of the city, we're not very far away now.

"Octavia and Niylah?" I ask, hesitant.

"On which planet do you live, man?" snarls John. "They've been together for like four months. It happened a few weeks after you broke up with Echo maybe?"

Suddenly, what I saw outside Clarke's house the last time I was there makes sense.

_I'm an idiot. The king of idiots._

I double speed and overtake Murphy by finally recognizing the area. I now have other reasons to be in front of Clarke's house. She didn't choose Niylah over me. Didn't reject me. Didn't keep me away. That was all me. Me and my stupid ego. Me and my fear of losing her. Losing her _again_. Losing her _forever_.

"Blake, wait!" shouts Murphy, already several feet behind me.

However, I no longer need him, I know where I'm going. I know what I have to do. Also, even if I hadn't been able to find my way back to Clarke's house, the thundering sound of basses and vocals would certainly have been a good indication.

The music explodes from the interior of the house, shaking walls, doors, windows, and even the lightest stones on the road. In front of the residence, some neighbors are waiting, looking annoyed, but a "Get outta there! Don't you have something to do?" from Murphy, kicks them out quickly. Finally, it's just the two of us in front of Clarke's door. John enters without knocking and I take a deep breath before joining him.

I was ready for anything. I pictured myself finding her hurt. Lost. Desperate. In the middle of a nervous breakdown. Immersed in a nightmare from which she couldn't wake up. Afraid, announcing a new mortal danger. Calculator, already thinking about a plan to save us all. My mind had even begun to consider the worst before I stopped it outright, unable to relive her death again, even if it was only hypothetical.

I was ready for anything.

_Except for that._

I don't recognize the music. The room isn't familiar to me either. A soft golden light brightens the walls covered with various and diversified paintings. Abstract and colorful. Bright. Luminous, like the young woman who turns her back on us, absorbed by her art. Her left-hand dances on the canvas at the same rhythm as her body sways to the beat of the song that is playing. I suddenly hear her humming and this sound vibrates and echoes within my whole being. When she moves, I see the strokes of what I suspect is Madi. A smiling Madi, full of innocence.

Clarke steps back to admire her work, makes a brushstroke here and there. When the chorus of the song resonates and explodes into thousands of notes throughout the room, her voice rises to follow the melody and I remain stunned, dazed, in front of her broken and torn tone, but nevertheless soft and warm.

I feel my lips stretch into an irrepressible smile when she starts jumping on the spot, then remains totally motionless when she suddenly turns and turns on herself, light and airy. Her bare feet barely touch the wooden blades of the floor while she still spins and spins. The sides of her silk kimono flew around her and the sun's rays were reflected on the golden embroidery of the outfit, as well as on her blond hair.

My heart is racing in my chest as an indescribable joy overtakes me.

_This is what Clarke Griffin looks like when she's happy. That's who she is when the weight of the world doesn't lay on her shoulders._

And, gods, I loved her already before I saw her like that, relieved of all burdens and carefree. I had fallen in love with her under danger and threat. I had learned to love her even as grief, sadness, and guilt were eating away at both of us. I had continued to love her, even though I thought I had lost her. I had rediscovered her as a ferocious and protective mother. It only took me a few days for the attraction to work again despite the war, despite fear, despite betrayal.

But now, now that I had seen her light up a room with the sun that was shining inside her, now that in my mind, happiness would carry her name forever, there was no turning back.

I will be forever and irrevocably in love with Clarke Griffin. With every part of her. With her darkness as with her light.

Her frightened cry suddenly breaks the thread of my thoughts. She jumps and releases her brush, which flies away with surprising speed in my direction. I only barely avoid her improvised weapon.

I don't even know how my reflexes are still functioning at this moment. I thought I was frozen in awe for all eternity. I would have liked to watch her dance, sing, jump and paint for all eternity.

"Bellamy!" she exclaimed, now more upset than frightened. "You scared the hell out of me! How long have you been here?"

I turn my head for half a second to realize that Murphy has deserted the house. Within a few steps, she reaches the radio station from which the music emerges and lowers its volume to leave only a slight background melody. Then she stands in front of me and crosses her arms before asking, suddenly serious:

"What are you doing here, Bellamy?"

I wish I could walk forward so I could lay my fingers on her face and erase the crease that has just appeared between her eyebrows with a gentle touch. Worry darkens his features, accompanied by other emotions that I cannot comprehend, but which frighten me and bother me at the same time. I suddenly feel bad about being the reason why this perfect and timeless moment has stopped. Embarrassed, I bend down and pick up the brush that has rolled at my feet before handing it to her.

She moves a little further forward and when her fingers land on the wood of the handle, I whisper:

"I'm sorry."

I don't know what I'm sorry about. The list is too long. It would take me several hours to explain to her everything I feel sorry for. There are a hundred reasons to find, a hundred excuses to give, a hundred apologies to make.

However, because this is Clarke and because she has always been able to read me like an open book, I can see in her sky-blue eyes something I hadn't seen in too long and which, I didn't know before that moment, I had missed more than anything in the world. Almost as much as I had missed her for six years.

_Compassion. Absolution. Forgiveness._

Who else but the one who herself has a hundred reasons to find, a hundred excuses to give, a hundred apologies to make, would have been able to give me what I instantly offer her myself, without even an afterthought.

"Forgiveness is hard for us," I had once told her, talking about Octavia and me.

Yet it was never difficult for me to give it to her.

"You're not the only one trying to forgive yourself," she had replied before adding, "maybe we'll get there someday."

_We are there. That's today. Here and now._

So when a jolt on the brush that neither she nor I have let go brings her so close to me that I can feel the warmth that comes out of her body as well as her breath on my skin, that's all I can think about.

"Together," I had answered her when she had suggested that I become the first man to set foot on this unknown planet.

"Together" is a word that means nothing, but everything at once. This word that carries in its core the meaning of so many things that I feel dizzy. Unless it's the intensity of everything I want at this very moment that makes me fall apart.

Fortunately, Clarke is by my side, as always, to keep my head above water while I drown in her ocean eyes, to center me while her whole being is radiating and attracting me, my personal source of gravitation.

Unless I got it backward?

When I read in her eyes the hint I have been waiting for, it seems to me, almost several lifetimes, I don't hesitate.

I don't hesitate to close the gap between us.

I don't hesitate to wrap my hand around her waist.

I don't hesitate to place my palm on his cheek.

I don't hesitate to crash my lips on hers.

I can feel her giving up all pretense when our mouths meet and our breaths mingle.

On her lips, I taste the happiness that consumed her when I entered and that she now shares with me without any restraint.

Then, I feel my heart, too, swinging, singing, jumping and painting under my closed eyelids a life filled with a thousand radiant colors.

A painting where Clarke and I are dancing and spinning side by side.

Together.

* * *

Hey Guys, I really hope you enjoyed this quick fiction. I'm obsessed with the trailer (almost as much as Billie Eilish's new album), did you like it? Any theories about the sixth season? Any hope for Bellarke still?

Please, leave a ton of comments and kudos!


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